The Waiting Soul

I

Breathe from the gentle south Lord,
  And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word.
  And call the spices forth!

II

I wish, thou know’st, to be resign’d,
  And wait with patient hope;
But hope delay’d fatigues the mind
  And drinks the spirits up.

III

Help me to reach the distant goal,
  Confirm my feeble knee
Pity the sickness of a soul
  That faints for love of thee.

IV

Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
  Yet since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
  Within, however low.

V

I seem forsaken and alone,
  I hear the lion roar;
And every door is shut but one,
  And that is mercy’s door.

VI

There, till the dear Deliv’rer come,
  I’ll wait with humble pray’r;
And when he calls his exile home,
  The Lord shall find him there.